


In Deinen Augen.

by tdorkitouya



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Alcohol mention/misuse., Character suicide but not mentioned in depth., Depiction of severe mental health., It's just an au guys., M/M, Other, Substance use/misuse., The fox is probably a metaphor for his mental illness., suicidal thoughts.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tdorkitouya/pseuds/tdorkitouya
Summary: His toes are colder now... They ache a little too from being situated upon the tips within fleeting breezes and hammering rain. But, he thinks that he can muster up enough strength within him to pull himself centre into the wall, although each step is slow and precise, placed with shaking limbs and panicked breaths; he might have lost his footing once or twice by now but managed to secure himself by hoisting an arm back over the side. He could let go. He could. He will.This piece focuses on darker aspects of an original character that I have created that was initially intended for another fandom, but has fast become a project that I would like to make my own and create my own story for. This piece delves into darker temptations such as alcohol and substance consumption and lacking tolerance, mental health typically focusing on depression, suicidal thoughts and even main character death; although this is not explicitly described but more so implied.
Relationships: But Jenova/Yurei also., It's mainly friendships.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	In Deinen Augen.

The ache was a crippling burden, no doubt. It hung at the rear of his cranium, heavy behind his eyes and heavier when the crown of his head settled against the throne of his shoulders. He can feel the cold now, he tells himself. He also tells himself that he probably hadn't felt the cold in a long time, neither had he felt the sun softly adrift on ones epidermis; tender as it tickles the freckles and mild scarring. It'll be nothing but a short jump, _he tells himself_ , labiums of coral and lifeless cracks flitting over fleeting words as he mulls over their meaning and wonders what it can truly feel like to fly. The books that Ignis would have once read to him told him of flightless tales and gentle doves and how flight could truly feel like nothing and yet, _something_ , all in one.

He hasn't looked over the edge in a long while, but reminds himself not to, for doing so will cause something to manifest within him, for an anchor that will threaten to pull him to shore, leave him upon the harbour with riddled and diseased fingers seeping further into the sadness of those around him. Jenova tells himself that it has probably been a long time since he truly smiled and his reality smiled back at him and longer since he saw the serenity behind the toothless smiles of his friends. If he thinks about them for too long, he might just feel the ache caught within his throat, the bittersweet taste of ash and soot and pained memories as he chokes back the numbing pain and lowers himself further over the edge. It would be easy, he tells himself, for his fingers to let go, for the tips of his feet to slip, for him to give way to the wind and ask for it to carry him away, because, anywhere could be better than here, anywhere could be better than being naught more than a harbinger of the cruel hatred homed by the fox. The one wishes to play like a puppeteer and ruin the glory of his friends. It'd hurt less to leave. He would hurt less.

His toes are colder now... They ache a little too from being situated upon the tips within fleeting breezes and hammering rain. But, he thinks that he can muster up enough strength within him to pull himself centre into the balcony, although each step is slow and precise, placed with shaking limbs and panicked breaths; he might have lost his footing once or twice by now but managed to secure himself by hoisting an arm back over the side. He could let go. _He could_. **He will**.

**━━━━━━━━ ♦ ━━━━━━━━**

It starts with an ache, a dull thrumming that nestles behind the eyes and reminds him to blink every so often. The words of ink woven into the pages fanned between his fingers, tips pressing down into the corners until they crease beneath the pressure and he hears the call from one of his friends reminding him to put the book down and take a break. It is followed by the thud of a closed book and a typically quaint expression of delicacy and genuine iris' become jaded by ignorance and fuelled by lacking ambitions - he throws the book down onto the coffee table, perhaps it chips at the wooden exterior but he offers no remorse.

Next comes the darker looks, the tired hues and blinking lashes, lithe digits of porcelain carding through long and untamed locks of ebony, he captures loose knots between his fingers and pulls with sharper intent, nose crinkling at the thought of hair breaking loose from its hold. Long and tamed nails press into temples in the efforts of chasing off the weighted demons that offer carnal fantasies within the cruellest of temptations; can you imagine how sweet it would feel to feel the very wind within your hair? It offers bittersweet symphonies, something that Jenova hopelessly clings too because it feels like it is now the only reality that he has left.

Sleepless nights always come next. Ruffling sheets and finger nails embedding themselves further, _deeper_ , into the material of his duvet. He looks into the darkness that surrounds his proximity, the haunting abyss stares back at him in the form of the demonised fox, beaming eyes and snarling teeth and he consciously tells himself that he can feel the unsteady warmth of its breath against the high of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, swearing to himself that he can feel the weight of it pressing down upon him, threatening to latch teeth into the skin of his throat and for a moment, he feels like he cannot breathe. Labiums agape with scornful prayers upon them, his own hands either reach for the tightening feeling that secures the base of his neck or clamping shut around his mouth. Nails presenting near perfect half crescents into a greying epidermis.

Jenova would say that he can sleep better when his fingers are entwined with Yurei's fingers, softened pads squeezing down in want of some sort of reality - daring to feel something that does not hurt him, nor cannot hurt him. He's almost daring to savour the moment before he feels the chains shackled at his ankles, or before he feels the anchor pulling him down into depths that he can no longer pull himself out of. One would even tell himself that he might be able imagine a _tomorrow_ or a next week when he rests into his friends laps and they tell him about their day; when they laugh within a harmony that Jenova had slowly become jealous of. Because, it felt like they were ahead of him, stepping away from him, pulling away from him and Jenova was still blindly chasing, long and deft fingers reaching out and meeting only the cold in return.

One night, he recalls the familiar warmth spread behind him, the tender kindness and innocence wrapped between arms as his shoulders bump in harsh ridges against Yurei's chest and Jenova is devoted to burying the sharpened points of his teeth into his fist as he feels the sheer cold of tears collecting the dual hues of his eyes; salty and bitter as they spread over the rise of his checks and seek home within the cupids bow of his lips. Jenova tells himself that he is home, that he is safe and the fox laughs back at him and ridicules Jenova for offering vulnerabilities and falling behind. He tells himself that if he squeezes his eyes shut, if he can feel the sharpness of thick lashes prodding and irritating the skin around his eyes, he can look out the hideous stare of the fox. The fox who chases Jenova like a dog would chase its tail, the fox who pulls him down upon his stomach and threatens to shred skin from blood and bone and how he tastes the familiar taste of metal purging his senses as he blinks away the dizzying nausea that is white hot within his abdomen.

When it got too much, it was the nests of palms harshly present against his ears, long fingers drifting into ebony strands and creating a contrast of almost perfection. It was a tight squeeze and wet lips, pretty iris' squeezed shut and the melancholic mantra of a simple soul begging for another to simply make it all go away. Within a single moment, Jenova has never sworn to religion nor had he listened to his mother preach chapters of her precious bible in the precise tongue that was necessary, but for a man who had been anything but holy, he would have sobbed 'pon hands and knees for even one God to chase such torment away. He tells Ignis that he is not a holy man but the voices have become more frequent and Jenova willingly begged a God to save him from this unwilling hell that he was being pulled into. Maybe he begged Ignis, with fingers latched into the material of Ignis' sleeves as Ignis made an attempt to earth Jenova and keep him grounded. Alas, Ignis is no God and a trembling frame could only stomach so much before it had to let go.

He can't decide if he stopped laughing or if they did, he starts to wonder if they ever did laugh or did the fox become _sly_ enough to force hallucinations upon him and make him seem worthy of listening to their laughter and losing himself within the undiluted innocence of their smiles? Maybe, they don't laugh as much as they used to because they're growing up, maybe maturity caught up to them and Jenova can no longer bathe within the harmonies that his friends orchestrated. Or, maybe they don't laugh because they haven't got the energy too any more, perhaps, they are simply on edge and the eggshells by which they once walked on and began to fracture their skin and their heels have become cracked. Maybe, it is agony for them too.

Ignis doesn't read to him as much any more, Ignis tells him to go to sleep and Jenova silently pleads for Ignis to create fantasies within Jenova's head so that he doesn't have to be terrified of the fox any more. Ignis always reminds him that it is okay and offers a vague ruffle of messy locks in which, Jenova wishes that he could pry for long and bask under the feel of something that feels normal and yet, awfully foreign at the same time.

He tells himself that Dieter doesn't smile at him as much as he used to, nor does he touch his shoulder or arm when he notes Jenova's crippling anxieties are bubbling over or when they feel like a sea to the shore; catalyst tides chasing down promises marred into sand. But then, Jenova first looked at him with a blurred vision and couldn't string words together and uttered some sort of foreign profanity but Dieter still held his hair back in loose strands and combed it from his view when Jenova ducked his crown into the toilet basin and hissed blue murder as he spills his stomach contents into it. But, that was the first and only time the fox allowed him to consume a substance and allow it to have its affect - it was dizzying and electrifying and for the first time in months, Jenova didn't feel like he was in agony.

Yet, alcohol serves a short usage and a memory amidst horrifying realities and the fox resurfaces each time he tries to consume more than he intended to remind him that foxes play games, they do not fall into traps. Jenova laughed, he recalls, laughed as he leaned into the mirror and eyed his reflection. His laughter was a miracle and yet, his smile could no longer reach the beauty of his eyes; no longer could it colour them within his natural innocence. He looks into the reflection that stares back at him and is met by the fox manifesting within his deepest and darkest desires, taut within the blackened darkness that cradles beneath his eyes or within the way the speckled blue and reds of his eyes have long since faded and glassed over, left with docile fragility and gleaming cracks. He forges a smile of iron, a smile once so timid, yet dainty and precise, dotted with roseate kisses, finds it fragmented and falling to dust, eagerly cradled by bandaged and crimson stained hands; attempting to hold himself together.

A week after, Jenova attempted to fool himself and the fox into thinking that he was okay and for a moment or two, Jenova had almost convinced himself that he had in fact, fooled the fox. Sometimes, he caught himself staring into his own reflection, hues fixated on the paling grey of his skin as long and lithe digits press over the splits and futile cracks within his lips. He'll stare for a little while longer and see if he can see the fox beneath the skin and bones, he'll squint a little into the water that fills his bath and see if he can see the undeniable snarl of hiss of ugliness; but the fox doesn't come. Not then, anyway. So, with a sigh and slumped shoulders he idly flicks loose locks of ebony out of his view, leaving it to cascade along the curve of his spine. Alas, it rears its head when Jenova looks back into the mirror and he witnesses the gruesome smile and bloodied teeth, the fixate eyes and dilated pupils, he notes the flaring nostrils and the creases within the skin and finds himself shouting in a foreign tongue begging for the fox to leave him alone. And when Tuyet comes and grasps him by the collar to draw him close to her chest? She see's only pain and innocence and whispers the sweetest lullabies whilst Jenova tries to tell himself that this isn't a harmony.

Jenova knew that his life had been far from a pleasant daydream or saccharine sweet fairy tale for that matter, but had in fact, been bloodied gums and missed teeth, split nails and raw skin, crushed spines and the smell of fire, but when his fingers curve into Tuyet's clothing or his forehead presses against Kenshin's, he can close his eyes and within that momentary solitude can he tell himself that he can only see stars when once he saw a battle field. With teary eyes had he looked back up at Tuyet, lips parted and wet with webs of saliva as he whispered every plea that resounded within his skull and pressed his fingers in further in efforts for her to take everything away; take this anguish away.

' _ **Please**_.' He would have breathed, whilst his cheeks redden and tears mark their path amongst the rise of his cheeks, caught upon lips and chin. It was a shaken breath and unsteady words, a foreign plea that the fox made into a collection of sounds rather than words, so his prayer was never heard.

When the fox next appears, it's stood behind him, reddened iris' offering naught more than a poppy red field of anguish and war riddled into the crevices of its palms as it offered the noose to a pretty little neck and Jenova flung his fist forward in responses, baring bloodied knuckles and split skin and screaming for it to leave him alone, to please leave him alone and it's Yurei who grips him by the waist, who coils arms around his middle and presses his torso to Jenova's back at Jenova threatens to to claw once more at the swollen frame and shattered glass. Jenova screams that he can't do this any more and Yurei can only pull Jenova's arms close to him, press his nose to Jenova's temple and whisper the sweetest of hymns in his ear. Yurei has always made promises about tomorrow and the week after, he promised next month and a year after and Jenova clung onto that as though it was a fine wire because the fox was gradually taking everything and his legs buckled when he tried to stand but it was Yurei who would grab him when it was too late.

The screams and the protests, the anguish of war riddled sobs probably had continued for 10 minutes after, whilst Yurei hushed at a scrambling Jenova and Jenova slammed his knees against the wooden frame of his bed, but when Jenova could no longer feel the nausea of collected anxiety and instead felt the blissful warmth of careful hands and sugar sweet kisses that coax him back to the surface. Jenova asks when this will end and for a moment, can he meet only silence, instead, just the tender breaths that pass along his cheek before an answer is given. Yurei says that he doesn't really know when this will end but promises that there is always an end. When Jenova asks if Yurei would stay with him even if he continued like this, Yurei tells the story of the phantom who followed the girl, who sang melodies of promises that wherever she should go, he would go too and that'd be all that he would ask of her and that was when Jenova realised that he was too far in love to allow himself to continue harming Yurei.

It is Kenshin who cleans his knuckles, who pursed his lips in thought and eyed the swollen marks with a mere frown upon his visage. Violence was something that Kenshin knew a lot about, Jenova has seen the lashings of battle riddled into Kenshin's flesh and the fated promises of victory marred into his face. Jenova had watched Kenshin carefully, blinking once and then twice and then maybe no longer blinking after that. Kenshin had been gentle, uttering silly words about how Jenova needed to be more careful and Jenova told Kenshin the light must have been playing a trick on him, but later goes onto to tell Kenshin that he hurt himself whilst attempting to stop the mirror from falling. Kenshin would have been the last person that Jenova wanted to disappoint, in fact, he had told himself that he wanted to be just like him once; brave and intelligent, powerful and cunning. But, the fox reminded Jenova that he was nothing and nothing that he could do would ever comprehend to the feats of Kenshin. To Jenova, Kenshin had once become everything, the little light on a golden path as Jenova sought to be the very hero within his own making.

Kenshin had told him to be careful and had discretely ran his thumbs across the ridge of bandaging that littered the points of Jenova's fists, but before he allows Jenova to leave, he almost makes him promise that if Jenova should call, Kenshin would be his own personal hero. Jenova never promised to call, in fact, he never promised anything and that was the last time he had looked at Kenshin with such fondness before he realised that he was tearing each and every one of them down, exhausting them and all that they had to offer, bleeding them dry of their will and their sanity and the fox ridiculed him for being a burden.

He had always been a burden. An iron anchor that gripped into the ankles of those who were deemed gold to him because Jenova had always been frightened of being left behind... Perhaps, it was better to stand back and watch as others continued on without you.

He packed a bag that night, although, he didn't pack much; he didn't pack a change of clothes, not did he collect his toiletries. He took keychains and keyrings, plush teddies and souvenirs, took his pictures and all his little memoirs and when he looked back over a room that was once a display of a young man who adored foxes and teddy bears, key rings and figurines... He found a standard emptiness that looked back at him and told him that Jenova Yukimara was never meant for this life and Jenova finally said that it was okay; _he tried his best anyway_. When he comes into the hallway, he's met by Ignis and Dieter, who almost felt out of place and here because they sorry for him - that's what the fox tells him. That is what the fox has always told him. So, when Dieter opens his mouth to speak, Jenova cuts him short with an index finger and reminds that it is okay and that he understands; he's sorry that this didn't work out but he wished that it could have.

He thinks that Ignis asked where he was going and Jenova could only shrug in response, probably anywhere at this point. But, Jenova lied to himself and told himself that he'd return to his parents, his father would know how to chase the fox away, he had done so, so many times before. Jenova never stuck around long enough to hear Dieter nor Ignis out but they never came to him to suggest that he leave. Dieter came because he was concerned and missed the playful Jenova who played his hands together in a game of Monopoly before pulling out the next card and winning the game and Ignis missed the Jenova who always situated himself to Ignis' right and asked Ignis to tell him stories about the stars and craft poetry from the solar system.

**━━━━━━━━ ♦ ━━━━━━━━**

His spine stretches and his arms lock at the elbows and Jenova hoists his torso out above the city beneath him. He closes his eyes for a moment, he feels the cold run amongst the rise high of his cheeks, feels the pull of thickened lashes, feels the prickled tears catch upon the soreness that dresses beneath his eyes. Tiers of grey and ash fall apart as a broken gasp is peeled from the backs of his teeth, a mere cloud to the bitter cold that surrounds him before fading to nought. The fox tells him to let go, for how wonderful would it feel to feel the cold rush of wind within tangled raven locks and spread ones arms like wings and-

 _His phone vibrates in his pocket_. He pulls himself back in close to the balcony, his chest pressing against the iron-wrought rim as one hand drops towards his trouser pocket, the other hand threatening to leave imprints in the balcony interior. For a moment does he fumble the pocket of his trousers, deft digits locking around the red coloured device as he pulls it into his view... A phone call from that oh so familiar name and image, such a delicate and genuine smile; how beautiful, Jenova thinks. He doesn't answer, he doesn't have a chance to, his hands are shaking and his thumb rattled against the screen and even if he had answered, what would he say? What would Yurei ask? How could Jenova hold back the choked cries and the hoarse voice? So when the call ends, the screen goes back to his home screen with the notification of Yurei's name and perhaps, only perhaps, that might have been enough to pull him back over, to roll his shoulders and free of this unwilling weight that continued to latch onto him.

But, when the screen returns to its home screen, Jenova see's them. He see's all of them, he see's his whole world and his own treasure compacted into single pixels to craft his unique love for each and every one of them. He see's the beauty within Yurei's eyes, the intelligence and wisdom within the way Ignis sits, he see's the glory within Kenshin, the love and warmth within Dieter and the generosity within Tuyet and Jenova so selfishly wishes that he could run back to them and crumble at their feet at he apologises and explains himself; as he sobs that they are his safe space and Jenova wants to feel safe again. He begins to lower his phone down towards his pocket, ebony crown of thistle thorned crown and singular orange drops forward heavily as strands fall over his shoulders, thick and heavy with the chill and the onslaught of rain, damp and flush to his rounding cheeks, but he misses his pocket and frantically reaches back to grasp at his phone again whilst the hand still holding onto the iron rail has long since become sodden by rain and too damp to cling on, so that when Jenova reaches back too much, his left leg slips and he catches his ankle against the concentrate and his breath hitches-

He drops the phone, he lost his phone before he lost anything else, his free hand wishing to be fast enough as it comes around to try and maintain balance, but nails just catch against it and that slight hope of running home to his friends and nestling into their craft warmth falls bitter upon his tongue as Jenova looks up and see's the fox stood before him, bloodied fangs and an angled smile. The fox is laughing now, the fox is cackling, gripping onto his wrist and steadily prying his fingers from the rail. Jenova wants to scream back, to tell him to give him another chance, to beg to be pulled back up so that Jenova could live a better life and rewrite all of his wrongs. He wants to scream and shout back, claw his own way out of its hold, but before it is too late, the fox reaches over and whispers the cruellest of lines: haven't you ever thought about how it would feel to fly?

He thought about it all the time. With lips agape and widened eyes, Jenova stared into the face of death and death answered, loosening its grip as Jenova begged and shuffled, a hummed 'no' caught amongst his lips and he recalls his hand reaching... Reaching out, fingers splayed and the wind caught within his hair. For a moment, he wonders how he looks to the fox, broken and dismal and yet, one last attempt to look serene and peaceful, or hopeless and dainty, shattering beneath the weight of earth's gravity. He thinks about them then... He thinks about how he let down and how they shouldered his burden. He hopes with a small part of them that they to not think too unkindly in his actions, he thinks that maybe they'd understand; Jenova Yukimara had always been falling.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted in a while but please do expect some more writing to be added here once I have cleaned out posts and beta-read through everything. If you're curious as to the title and what it says, it says "In your eyes," translated into German. Before you consider reading this, I would take note of the tags that are available and the content in this piece that I will be providing. But, if you took the time to read this, I truly appreciate it, considering that I haven't wrote anything on here for a good while and this piece is also really kind of personal to me, especially the central character. Although, his storyline has definitely changed from the first draft.


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